


love is thick and heavy

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: yule gift fics [12]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dirty Talk, Fish dick, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Monster Jaskier | Dandelion, Mountain Fix-It, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Penetration, Oral Sex, Sea monster, Tentacles, Triple Penetration, look there's tentacles you know what's going on here, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: He follows rumors of a sea monster to the cave.Of course, he doesn’t actually expect to find anything; at least, he doesn’t expect to find amonster.Really, he figures he’ll find a very large fish, maybe a vagrant or two.He definitely doesn’t expect to findJaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: yule gift fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038730
Comments: 40
Kudos: 304





	love is thick and heavy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheJaskiestOfThemAll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJaskiestOfThemAll/gifts).



> hey look more monsterfucking!
> 
> thanks to koda ( [stormandstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormandstarlight/profile) ) for help with things - specifically fish dick - and kim ( [KHansen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/profile) ) for the title. i have the most darling friends.
> 
> this one is for the amazing samdy, who is very cute and lovely and deserves the world, and no, i will never spell your name right ever again :D

He follows rumors of a sea monster to the cave.

Of course, he doesn’t actually expect to find anything; at least, he doesn’t expect to find a _monster._ Really, he figures he’ll find a very large fish, maybe a vagrant or two.

He definitely doesn’t expect to find _Jaskier._

* * *

“Who’s there?”

The voice is different. Lower, rougher, but still musical, still _familiar,_ and Geralt freezes.

What does he say? What _can_ he say?

“Show yourself, or leave. I’ve no patience for intruders.”

Geralt takes a deep, deep breath, watching the way light reflects off the water in the cave and throws weak, wavering lines onto the walls of the cave.

“Jaskier,” he says, clear and firm.

A pause.

“What the _fuck._ ” The words are followed by a great splash, the reflecting light scattered by the movement. “What the fuck!”

Geralt steps forward, and finds that the cave turns sharply to the left and then goes down, down, into a large cavern where the sea flows in from the opposite side. Jaskier is there, in the middle of the water, looking…not himself.

Well, sort of.

He does look like himself, really; his eyes are the same cornflower blue that Geralt sees in his dreams, hair the same soft brown, darker right now because it’s wet, hanging with gentle curls around his face. But there’s…differences. His eyes are bigger, for one; his skin is…not quite green, but not quite _human_ , either. He has gills on his throat, great gashes that flutter lightly with each breath he takes. The chest hair is gone.

The rest of him is obscured entirely by the churning water. Geralt swallows.

“Jaskier,” he repeats. He watches the way Jaskier’s face crumbles, chest aching as the bard – the…merman? _Monster?_ – turns away from him.

“I suppose it was just a matter of time,” he says, and he sounds…resigned. Geralt takes a few halting steps forward. “Never mind that I’ve never killed a soul here, eventually I knew that the villagers would tire of the monster in their midst. I assume you’re here to kill me.”

“Theoretically,” Geralt answers, swallowing again. He ignores the implication of the words _never killed a soul_ here. “I was told rumors of a monster.”

“Well, here it is,” Jaskier says with a great, sweeping gesture. “I won’t fight you, Witcher.”

That word feels like a blow. Before, it was a term of endearment; now it’s a title, the same way it always is.

“I said I was told _rumors,_ ” Geralt says, and to his alarm, his voice is shaking slightly. “I see no such monster here.”

Jaskier snorts, and when he turns back to Geralt his eyes have changed; instead of blue, they’re black, no iris to be found, just large, odd-shaped pupils. With a surge, Jaskier climbs out of the water, revealing not the tail that Geralt had expected but a mass of tentacles, writhing around as Jaskier moves toward him at an alarming speed.

Geralt doesn’t move. Jaskier comes right up to him, towering with the length of his bottom half, teeth bared and glinting sharp.

“No such monster, hm?” Jaskier says, and even though every line in his body suggests threat, his voice is…weak. Soft.

He’s afraid.

Geralt swallows a third time.

“Not that I can see,” he confirms. “All I see here is a…friend. One I wronged. One I’d like to apologize to, if he would listen to me.”

Jaskier jerks back as if the words are a slap, eyes going wide. Watching them transform back to the eyes Geralt is familiar with is strange, almost unsettling; he tamps down on a shiver and maintains eye contact. No matter how much he wants to study this new form of Jaskier’s.

“You – you _bastard,_ ” Jaskier says, and it’s half laughter and half shout. “You…twenty-two years and you never called me a friend. And now….”

“Not to your face,” Geralt corrects. “I…I called you friend often, actually.”

Jaskier blinks. “When?”

“When you weren’t around,” Geralt shifts, slightly uncomfortable.

“…why?”

Geralt thinks for a moment, something in his gut squirming uncomfortably. “I was…afraid. That if I admitted it to you, it would disappear. I don’t – friends aren’t exactly _common,_ for a Witcher. At least not _real_ ones. Ones that don’t have an agenda.”

Jaskier just _looks_ at him, really studies him, and Geralt squirms a little but bears it, looking back with as much confidence as he can muster.

“You _asshole,_ ” Jaskier finally says, but he’s grinning, teeth sharp and glinting and gills flaring with his breath. Geralt bites down on the inside of his lip until it bleeds. “You… _gods,_ Geralt, you’re – you’re an _idiot._ ”

“I know,” Geralt nods. “I am. And I’m sorry. For everything.”

Jaskier’s eyes soften, and Geralt suddenly finds he can’t hold eye contact any longer. He looks away as casually as he can, eyes searching the cavern walls. There are shelves carved into them – natural or not, Geralt can’t tell – and they’re filled with books and trinkets.

“I wanted to show you,” Jaskier says, quiet, at the same time Geralt realizes aloud, “You wanted to bring me here, when you asked to go to the coast.”

He turns back to look at Jaskier again. He’s still towering, his tentacles making him not quite double Geralt’s height, but he’s curled in on himself now, arms cradled to his body and shoulders slumped. Making himself small where he’s naturally so large.

The same effect his tailored clothes have in his – his _other_ form. Cut to make his waist look thinner, his shoulders smaller, his legs shorter and not as muscled. Always trying to make himself smaller, even as it seemed that he was trying to make himself bigger.

An illusion, always.

Geralt’s chest hurts.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “But I’m here now. I _want_ to be here. Would you show me?”

Watching the realization dawn on Jaskier’s face is like watching the sun rise. His eyes light up and his smile returns, wide and digging deep grooves at the corners of his eyes; his shoulders drop back, and his arms relax.

Geralt can’t help but grin right back.

* * *

Hours later, Geralt is stripped down to his smalls and his shirt, feet dangling into the water while Jaskier floats serenely a few feet away. He looks…good, like this.

Aside from the gills and the teeth and the tentacles, really, he looks exactly like Geralt knows him. Trim waist, wide shoulders, muscled arms; a narrow, graceful neck that leads to a face caught somewhere between boyish and rugged manhood. A creature of contradictions, always, _always,_ and something about that comforts Geralt, that even with all of this hiding beneath his best friend of over two decades, that he’s still the Jaskier that Geralt knows.

Knows and loves.

Geralt swallows. Jaskier floats a little closer and turns his head toward Geralt with a curious look.

“What is it?” he asks. “If you have a question, you can ask it.”

“Can I touch them?”

He isn’t sure why _that_ is what slips out of his mouth, but all the same, the words hang in the air between them. Jaskier’s eyes go a little wider, shoulders tensing, and for a split second Geralt is _terrified,_ anxious that he made another mistake, but then Jaskier is sitting up and darting forward, until his smooth chest presses to Geralt’s knees and his hands land on the rock on either side of Geralt’s hips. Some of the tentacles slither up, too, around Geralt’s feet and onto the rock to his sides, a few winding higher around Jaskier’s waist.

Geralt shudders and reaches out to one of the ones floating close to the surface of the water. It lifts toward his hand, and he pets over the appendage gently. It’s slick, but not water-slick, more like it’s got its own coating of some kind, and smooth, warm compared to the seawater but cool compared to Geralt’s palm. As he pets over it, lightly at first and then more fully, it rotates and presses its opposite side to his fingers.

This side is different than the top, the color just slightly lighter, and slicker, too. There’s more texture, as well, not really suckers like Geralt has seen on certain sea life or monsters, but wriggling little rows of protruding nubs that grip well all the same. He gasps when they grab his hand and it takes a moment to pull back.

Jaskier chuckles.

“They feel….” Geralt’s not even sure what to say.

“Odd? Strange? They’re not typical, really, not even of my species.”

“…which is?”

“We don’t have a name in Common or Elder. I could say it to you, but it’ll sound like nothing but clicks and calls, like dolphins or whales.”

Geralt hums. “Interesting. Pre- or post-Conjunction?”

“…both, kind of.” Jaskier pushes back a little, but only goes far enough that his chest is no longer pressed to Geralt. “Something that appeared with the Conjunction dove into the sea and found a native lover. Not sure if it was the man part or the tentacles part, but either way – here we are. Here _I_ am, at the least.”

“And how long have you been around?”

“I’m relatively young,” Jaskier says, a thoughtful look on his face. “Let’s see, the first time I set foot on the Continent as a human I was…already a century old. And from there, it’s been…four, five hundred years? I think.”

Geralt gapes. “You’re – Jaskier. You’re older than Witchers as a _concept._ ”

“I am?” Jaskier asks, looking surprised. “…huh, I suppose I would be.”

Geralt laughs and shakes his head. “You’re very aware of the times, for something so old,” he compliments, and Jaskier snorts.

“Well, I didn’t go to Oxenfurt for _nothing,_ ” he says.

“Clearly.” He finds himself wanting to reach out, and decides _fuck it, may as well._ Jaskier startles when his hand settles cupping his jaw, but smiles and tips into the touch. Geralt just strokes his cheek for a moment, taking in the way Jaskier looks – relaxed and trusting, lashes fluttering as he pushes into each little caress, and then finds words tumbling from his mouth again. “You have always been so pretty.”

Jaskier’s eyes fly open and his cheeks darken – the color is almost bruise like, and Geralt has another fleeting thought about this color of his blood. “Geralt?” he asks, soft, and reaches up to grasp Geralt’s wrist. For the first time, he realizes that Jaskier has webbed fingers and wicked-sharp nails. His touch is wet and cold, a little slick – like the tentacles – and Geralt…kind of likes it.

“What?” Geralt asks. “It’s not as if you don’t know.”

“Of course I know, but – ” Jaskier presses his cheek into Geralt’s palm with a pointed look, then drags his hand down with the hold on his wrist until his palm rests over the gills on his throat. “Like this?”

Geralt sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Yes,” he says, certain, dragging his gaze down to where the human part of Jaskier fades into the so-called _monstrous_ part, where it disappears into the seawater still swirling around Geralt’s legs. “Yes, like this.”

“And…without?” Jaskier prods, sounding unsure, and Geralt huffs.

“Jaskier,” he says, and gently breaks his grasp to slide his hand around to the back of his neck. It’s easy, then, to reel him in for a kiss, just a short distance to pull him and then lean down –

Jaskier _whimpers_ against his lips, mouth parted in a little pout when he leans just far enough away to see. Geralt slides his hand up, into Jaskier’s hair, pulls him in once more, and kisses him properly. He’s vaguely aware of Jaskier pressing closer, webbed hands on his knees spreading his legs to make room, tentacles slithering out of the water to wrap around Geralt’s thighs, his waist.

Despite all of that, Jaskier’s mouth has the lion’s share of his attention, and he can’t even bring himself to be bothered about it. Jaskier’s teeth are deadly sharp, but he’s careful of them, _so_ careful, and his lips are slick and swelling, and he tastes of brine and seaweed and, of all things, lemon, and Geralt is _lost_ to it.

As they kiss, Geralt’s hands start to wander, joining Jaskier’s tentacles in exploration; he pets gentle fingers over the ridges of Jaskier’s gills, then slides his palms down over his smooth chest, greedy for the slick feel of it, the way Jaskier’s pebbled nipples catch on his callouses and they _both_ moan for it.

“Geralt, _fuck,_ ” Jaskier mutters, lips still pressed to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “You – I – ”

“Tell me you want it,” Geralt interrupts, suddenly desperate to hear it, hand sliding further down until he feels the transition from human skin to the smoothness of the tentacles. There’s about five, maybe six inches of solid mass, like he’d expect from the tail of a merperson before it splits into the tentacles, and he lets his hands rove over that place. Jaskier shudders like the waves.

“ _Yes,_ ” he hisses, and it’s a _proper_ hiss, animalistic; when Geralt looks, his eyes have gone inhuman again. He shivers. “Fuck, Geralt, _yes,_ I’ve wanted you for _decades._ ”

Geralt can’t help the way he growls, or the way he grips at Jaskier’s waist and pulls him in until he can’t get any closer. Jaskier gasps, gills flaring alongside the way his chest rises, and Geralt kisses the air right back out of him. His hands go back to wandering while their tongues twist together, and when he sweeps his fingers across the front of Jaskier’s “tail”, the bard whines and jerks, one sharp tooth catching Geralt’s lip and drawing blood.

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m so sorry – ” Jaskier babbles, one hand coming up to swipe over the bead of blood. Against his skin it looks so starkly red Geralt can’t stop himself from staring for a moment before he leans forward and sucks it off.

Jaskier makes a low rumbling noise, somehow full of shock at the same time it feels like a threat, makes Geralt’s hair stand up. He shivers and sucks harder at the tip of Jaskier’s finger before letting it go with a wet _pop._

“What was that?” he asks, gesturing to where he’d touched that had made Jaskier react so strongly. The bard colors, cheeks darkening.

“It’s – here,” he grabs Geralt’s hand from what would approximately be his hip and drags it back down, to where it was before. “Just…press. Lightly.”

Geralt does as he’s told, and feels a sort of – break, in the smooth skin. A split of some kind. Curiously, he prods a little harder and Jaskier whines, grip tightening on his wrist but not pulling him back. He does it some more, until his fingers sort of slip _inside,_ and Jaskier _keens._

“ _Geralt,_ ” he whimpers, hand starting to tremble. “I – _ah,_ yes – that feels – _fuck._ ”

He has no idea what he’s doing, but he keeps doing it all the same, pressing with gentle fingertips until the slit becomes more visible, almost _widening._ The inside is a lighter blue-green than the tentacles, but only just, and it’s slicker even than they are, and smoother. Softer. Geralt breathes in roughly, smelling saltwater and damp and stone and _Jaskier,_ brine and lavender, just the hint of the scent he carries as a human.

His fingers press a little deeper, into an opening that’s revealed itself, and Jaskier whimpers again, throwing his head back. His gills work like bellows at the same time his chest heaves, like he can’t figure out where to breathe from, and Geralt finds himself smirking. He probes deeper, slipping two fingers into the slick, tight opening, and crooking them up. He has no idea if it’ll do anything – Jaskier isn’t _human,_ after all – but it’s a decent guess.

A decent guess that turns out to be correct, as Jaskier jerks and something within him throbs. Geralt hums and does it again, pressing and massaging at the firmness he can feel just inside the entrance he’s buried his fingers into. Jaskier’s claws dig into his wrist and his whole body trembles.

“Geralt, _Geralt,_ ” he pants, “that’s – you – _fuck._ Yes, just like that, _oh gods –_ ”

Geralt hooks his fingers a little more and really _presses,_ and he feels something shift; he looks down from Jaskier’s bobbing throat to find that the head of a cock has appeared. It’s clearly that – the head of a cock – but it’s…not like anything Geralt has ever seen.

Maddeningly, he finds his mouth watering at the sight.

It’s somehow slim and bulbous at once, the head mostly round but with the smallest taper at the top, and when he presses like that again more of it emerges, waving slightly in the water. Jaskier groans, low enough to vibrate the water a little, and Geralt bites back a whine of his own, pulling his fingers back a little just to shove them back in.

“ _Geralt!_ ” Jaskier shouts it, hand going tight again alongside the tentacles still wrapped around Geralt’s body. It feels suffocating and claustrophobic but in the most confusing, _arousing_ way, and Geralt moans.

“Jaskier,” he rasps, and does it again. And again, and again, and _again._

Jaskier shakes and tears at his arm and bruises him with the grip of his tentacles, the slit Geralt is buried in pulsing. He’s whimpering, garbled, nonsensical words falling from his lips in echoes as he steadily trembles to pieces in Geralt’s arms, cock completely unsheathed and throbbing in time as well.

He can _smell_ it when Jaskier comes, the scent of salt suddenly so intense it tickles his nose, and the milky release that clouds his view as proof. He slowly pulls his fingers back, running them lightly along the base of the cock still bobbing between them, and Jaskier makes a quiet, breathless noise, belly pulling tight before he lets it go on a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Feel good?” Geralt asks, half sincere and half teasing.

Jaskier tips his head back up, eyes entirely black now – like Geralt on Cat – and grins, teeth sharp and mouth just slightly too wide to be _right._

Geralt’s cock jerks in his soaked smallclothes.

“Your turn,” Jaskier purrs, and Geralt barely even registers the sound of his shirt tearing as Jaskier leans forward to sink those needle-sharp teeth into his throat.

“Oh _fuck,_ Jask,” he pants, letting his head fall back to bare his throat. Jaskier makes a low, approving noise, and presses Geralt back until he’s laying on the damp stone floor. His smallclothes go the way of his shirt, and then Jaskier is wrapping a slick hand around Geralt’s erection and he’s crying out, arching into the wet-slick, cold touch. The sensation of the webs over the head of him is like nothing he’s ever felt, sharp and soft all at once, sending fire down his spine to curl up in his gut.

“Handsome Witcher,” Jaskier rumbles, and it’s an endearment again. Geralt sobs weakly and jerks up into Jaskier’s fist again, the end of the sound twisting and going high when Jaskier _squeezes._ “ _Gods,_ the things I want to do to you….”

“ _Please,_ ” Geralt gasps, thinking of Jaskier’s oddly-shaped cock, the tentacles. He feels the way a spurt of precome slicks Jaskier’s palm, hears the low chuckle the bard gives. “Please, please, want you.”

Jaskier groans. “ _That’s_ a sound I never thought I’d hear,” he says, speeding up his strokes while his other hand slides beneath Geralt’s knee to lift it and push it to the side, forcing him to spread his legs. “You, begging for me. _Fuck._ ”

“I’ll beg all you want,” Geralt manages, eyes rolling at the catch of Jaskier’s webbing against the sensitive ridge of his cock. “Just – _oh,_ please, Jaskier, want it – want you so much. Please – please give it to me?”

“ _Geralt,_ ” Jaskier growls, and suddenly there’s a slick pressure at Geralt’s hole – a tentacle, he thinks, and he jolts. “You can’t just – ”

“I _can,_ ” Geralt counters, not even sure what Jaskier was going to say and not caring a bit. “Want – oh, fuck, _please._ Please fuck me.” The tentacle presses harder, and Geralt realizes with jerk that Jaskier actually has pretty fine control of them, as the tip wriggles and slowly, _slowly_ coaxes his rim to relax. “Oh, _oh_ fuck.”

Jaskier’s hand speeds up just as the very tip of the tentacle finally slips inside Geralt’s body, and he whines, high and wounded. It’s still so slow, the pressure, but it’s _steady,_ and he can feel where he’s stretching around the girth of it, feel the burn as his body gives in to the unstoppable force. He’s teetering right on the edge, cock throbbing and drooling in Jaskier’s grip, hips shuddering between the sensations.

“Give it to me, Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, finally, ducking down to swipe a too-long tongue over Geralt’s slit. “Give in.”

He comes with a wail, back arching as he splatters seed up his belly, his chest. The tentacle sinks deeper and deeper while he’s lost to the pleasure, and each time he clenches around it he cries out again. Again, again, again, until finally his blood settles and Jaskier lets go of his cock with one last gentle pet, leaning over to lick up a puddle of cum from Geralt’s belly.

“Delicious,” he says, smirking up at Geralt.

He has to let his head drop back against the floor, or that smirk is going to _kill_ him. “Jaskier,” he rasps, tilting his hips up and bearing down, letting the tentacle slide just a little deeper, spread him open wider. “Can – can you feel that?”

“Mm,” Jaskier nods, moving to lick up more of Geralt’s spend. “Not as well as I could with my cock, or – other tentacles. But yes, I can. You’re like a godsdamned _inferno_ inside, Geralt.”

The tentacle has warmed, now, but Geralt realizes, a little distantly, that it had been cold before. “You’re cold,” he says, almost an accusation except for the fact that his voice is weak.

“Hm, I am, but you’ll warm me right up, won’t you?” Jaskier smirks again, the shape of it pressed to Geralt’s hip, and he can’t help the breathless laugh it knocks out of him.

“I will,” he agrees.

Jaskier kisses at his hip, and the tentacle starts to move properly, in and out, the thrusts gentle but sure. Geralt shudders from his scalp to his toes, the latter curling as sparks spread through him from the oversensitive pleasure of it.

“Ah,” he gasps. “Ah, Jask, _oh._ ”

“Want to stuff you full, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbles, lips pressed to his thigh, now. “Fill you up until you’re choking on me, bursting with it.”

The bolt of heat that spears through Geralt’s body might as well be lightning for the way it makes him jerk and shudder.

“ _Please,_ ” he whines. Just thinking of it, the idea of being so full of Jaskier, makes his cock twitch back to life, painful where it throbs against his belly. Jaskier drags the very tip of his inhuman tongue along the pulsing vein along the bottom.

“I wonder how much of me you can take,” Jaskier muses. The tentacle moves faster as Geralt loosens, opens up for the fucking. The sound of it, wet from a mix of water and the slick the tentacles are coated in, is obscene, loud and echoing off the cavern walls. Geralt whimpers and clenches down, wanting to _feel_ how full he is right now, and the sudden tightness makes Jaskier growl, makes Geralt whine again.

“Want it,” he manages to choke out. “Want it, please, please, give it to me, Jask.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

The tentacle leaves, but Jaskier is there in his place, webbed hand dipping between them to pet carefully over his friction-swollen rim. After the brief touch of his fingers, there’s the press of something else – something rounder than the tentacle and even slicker, but moving just _slightly_ , back and forth.

Jaskier’s cock.

“Can – you can – ”

“Mating underwater is a bit of a chore,” Jaskier murmurs. “It takes control.”

Geralt chokes around a guttural moan, belly dipping with the force of it as he jerks his hips up, searching for more than just the gentle, flickering pressure. “Gods above, _please._ ”

“Begging the gods now, are you?” Jaskier teases. “Is that all it takes to get your devotion, hm? A cock?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whimpers. “Jask, please, I – it’s just – _you,_ I want _you,_ please, please fuck me.”

“Melitele’s sweet perfumed thighs,” Jaskier snarls, and with a little shift and the brush of his knuckles against Geralt’s ass again, the rounded head of his cock sinks inside.

It’s not really a stretch, not after the tentacle, but the sensation is entirely alien; Geralt’s never felt anything like this, not in his long, varied sex life. Jaskier’s cock isn’t spongy the way he would expect, it’s smooth and almost feels like one of those expensive toys that mages sell, flexible but not like flesh is. The shape of it is alien, too, the slight taper before the wide bulge of the head, then the slimness of the rest.

But it’s long, and as Jaskier moves, it – it _wiggles,_ a little, side to side, and Geralt loses track of cataloguing the differences entirely. His body lights up at the way the taper prods at his walls, deeper and deeper until it _aches_ how far inside him Jaskier is, and he sobs brokenly, thrashing at the intensity of it all.

Eventually, Jaskier stops, and Geralt can feel the smoothness of his flesh against his thighs. And more than that, the soft, slick split where his cock emerges, pressed up against him; it almost feels like – like a _mouth,_ the way it pulses against him, around his hole where Jaskier’s cock is buried up to the base of him.

“ _Ja – Jaskier,_ ” Geralt gasps. “I – it…. _Fuck._ ”

“You feel like paradise,” Jaskier gasps out. “ _Geralt._ ”

“Move,” Geralt pleads, hips shifting. “Please, _fuck,_ more.”

Jaskier hums, something that must be agreement, because he does move. Just not at _all_ in the way Geralt expects. Instead of thrusting with his not-hips, pulling his cock out and pushing back inside Geralt’s body, just his cock moves, that same slight wriggling from before as well as pulsing that _feels_ like thrusts, without Jaskier ever moving away from him.

Geralt chokes and whines and his cock throbs, jerking up against Jaskier’s belly where he leans over to mouth at Geralt’s pec. “Jask,” he gasps, “Jask, _Jask._ ”

He wants to beg some more, wants to keen and praise and – everything, but the words aren’t there, and when he opens his mouth to try anyway, he finds a tentacle pushed over his tongue. This one is different than the others, but he can’t see it to nail the change down, eyes going crossed as he tries. Instead, he just follows the instinct to suck, to draw the appendage deeper into his mouth.

“ _Geralt,_ fuck,” Jaskier rasps, and sharp teeth are sinking into Geralt’s pec, framing his nipple, but the tentacle pushes deeper, threatening Geralt’s throat, and all he can do is give a muffled moan and arch into the pain.

It’s easy, like this, to lose track of time – of everything, really, that isn’t Jaskier and the pleasure coursing through his veins. He’s caught by Jaskier at both ends, held down by the bulk of him, and it’s…freeing. He jumps and whines around the tentacle in his mouth with Jaskier finally lets go of his bite and licks over the blood that wells up, the sting settling into an ache with each luxurious lick. Geralt sucks harder at the tentacle in his mouth in lieu of begging, and Jaskier moans, one hand dipping between them to wrap around his cock.

“Feel so fucking good, Geralt,” he rasps, nearly drowned out by the keening noise Geralt makes when he grasps his cock. “ _Gods,_ you’re beautiful.”

Geralt tips his head up to choke himself on the tentacle still fucking his mouth and jerks his hips up, too, clenching down at Jaskier’s cock throbs inside him. He feels half-delirious, already close to the edge just from being so surrounded, stuffed full and – and _loved._ He whimpers, broken up and muffled by the tentacle, and jerks his hips again; Jaskier responds by stroking his cock, grip tight and slick and a little cold, the smooth-sharp from his webbing making Geralt squirm.

The pleasure builds and builds and builds, stoked higher by the tentacle in his mouth and Jaskier fucking him faster and somehow _deeper._ He’s making wounded little noises around the tentacle, lips numb and mouth slack against its movements, and Jaskier is murmuring endearments and sweet nonsense that are making it somehow _better,_ and –

There’s odd, unfamiliar pressure at his hole, and when he sucks in a gasp around the tentacle filling his mouth, another slips inside him alongside Jaskier’s cock.

He comes so hard he thinks he might have cracked a tooth, spine arching sharply as he spills, making a mess between his belly and Jaskier’s. He’s gasping wildly around the tentacle in his mouth, unable to do much more than drool and whine past the pleasure whiting him out.

“Oh, _fuck,_ Geralt,” Jaskier hisses, bending closer to mouth messily at Geralt’s throat, his ear. “So fucking pretty it’s not _fair,_ feel so good around me – _gods_ – ”

Jaskier surges against him, a wave of water coming with him to soak the cavern, and that tentacle slips inside alongside his cock, the burn of the stretch nothing more than another layer of pleasure as Jaskier licks at his mouth around his own tentacle.

Geralt feels like he might lose his godsdamned mind. He tries to slur Jaskier’s name, chokes around the tentacle instead, spasming around the fullness in his ass at the same time, and Jaskier just growls, a second tentacle teasing at Geralt’s rim. After a few tries, he manages to get his arms up and around Jaskier’s shoulders so he can cling.

Words are gone. Most of everything that makes him a person is gone right now, reduced down to instinct and need. Certainly he’s not still coming, but he also doesn’t _know,_ everything is just sharp, beautiful sensation, the smell and feel of saltwater, the press of Jaskier’s larger frame against his.

Jaskier’s mouth presses to his temple, that second tentacle managing to squeeze in, and they both make low, broken noises; Geralt’s is weak, cracked through, and Jaskier’s is nearly subverbal, the kind of thing that makes the water pooling around them vibrate.

“Mine,” Jaskier hisses. “ _Mine._ ”

For the first time since it arrived, the tentacle in his mouth relents, and Geralt gasps back the only thing he can.

“ _Yours._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> in case you wondered if i realized what kim and i did with the title, well, have a meme.
> 
> [](https://imgbb.com/)


End file.
